Come Little Children
by Silenthunder
Summary: All he wants is to know you, the things you have trouble with...so that he can bring them to life. See, listen and fear, for he is Fear. Arkham Asylum Scarecrow Tapes, plus a little extra.
1. Chapter 1

**Doctor, Doctor**

Dark. Quiet. Secure. The three vital things needed for any good hiding place. And Jonathan Crane had found such a place, a basement room in which to conduct yet another experiment.

Jonathan shivered at the cold January wind that slipped through the cracks in the walls. Freeze would enjoy a chilly day such as this, but it was a bit too much for this villain, clad as he was with only his lab coat to wrap around his body. At least his mask was a bit warmer.

The experiment had been successful, as always. He had savored the screams and pleas before the patient had sunk into unconsciousness instead of death. And that was fine with Scarecrow. Normally he would inject enough toxin to kill, but it would be too risky with Coombs. He was a doctor whose disappearance would certainly be noticed compared to a normal patient's. And also because Scarecrow had once had the same profession. He had once been Dr. Crane, and he sometimes felt a certain respect towards his fellow workers. Sometimes. It was decreasing week by week. He assured himself that the next time Coomb's eyes opened, it would be the last.

Now that Coombs was no longer screaming, the Crane side came back into control, and he took off his mask. He pulled out a small tape recorder, remembering that as an Asylum "employee," he was supposed to conduct patient interviews – he had even been in some himself. It would be different this time, as "the patient" wouldn't be able to speak, but it could still be done. He readied it and pressed the recording button.

The only thing that Crane forgot was that no matter how hard he tried, Scarecrow would never stay completely out of business that wasn't his. He brought back memories into Crane's mind, pleasuring evil memories that managed to find their way into the words.

"Patient Interview One. Patient was referred to me after the incident with Dr. Murphy."

_The red-haired, middle-aged man lay in a hospital bed of his own, recovering from his shock. Jonathan expressed his deep concern to the rest of the staff present, but when no one was looking, smiled darkly at the still, sweating figure, sensing Murphy's subconscious was still struggling with fragments of the horrors that he had witnessed the day before. "Sweet dreams," Scarecrow whispered before Crane left the room._

"He appears to have suffered a breakdown of sorts. I believe it was brought about after the loss of his wife and child."

_Through thorough interrogation and using the right amount of toxin, Scarecrow had found out Dr. Murphy's deepest fear, and then, with wicked, eager ambition racing in his veins, he had made it come to life. It was then that he understood Zsasz a little better – animalistic creature though he was, the zombie-freer did speak true when he told of the incredible exhilaration he enjoyed after each murder. It was a sense of triumph that warmed Scarecrow as he stood in the house, listening to the sounds of horror coming from Murphy's wife and daughter. He felt proud that for the first time, he had not only found out what someone feared, but had made it come true in reality, had made the demons take form. He had left without hiding the bodies, determined that all would know the new level Scarecrow had risen to._

_Dr. Coombs, the regular therapist for Scarecrow, had gone to comfort Jonathan. But as Jonathan had been far from upset over the matter, he became offended. Offence against Crane was not easily forgiven; he chuckled at the irony of the present situation._

"As yet, the patient has been unable to speak. Continued observation shows little mental activity. It's as if what he saw triggered his mental collapse."

Coombs groaned slightly, and the villain stopped talking, slipping the burlap over his head. He stood up and took a step towards the twitching person on the table, his eyes bright as he reached for the syringes. _Yes...Let him see the mask once more – one last time..._

"Someone's in here!"

Scarecrow whirled around at the new voice, caught off guard as hands knocked at the locked wooden door. An eye peeked through a crack, then swiftly disappeared. "It's him! We found him! Break down the door!"

He sighed and reached for the tape recorder, speaking over the loud bangs and grunts that now filled the air. "Note to self: As ever, it is difficult to continue my research under such conditions."

As he finished speaking, the door gave way and three guards leapt inside the room, guns trained on the villain. "Step away from Dr. Coombs! Now!" the first commanded.

One of them knocked Scarecrow to the floor. "Get down on the ground!"

"We've found them. Someone get a medic," the first guard ordered, and the third one hurried off. "Oh man, what's he done to him?"

Scarecrow had managed to slide the tape recorder away into a dark corner after turning it off. Now he chuckled at the expression of disgust on the man's face. "I've _enlightened_ him, sir," he replied, his voice full of wicked mirth. "I've shown him reality for what it really is. He needed it."

The second guard kicked him savagely in the side. "Quiet, Crow!"

He dared to look him in the eye, jeering at the one he recognized from late night patrols. "What's the matter, _Mark_? Are you afraid?"

He gained another kick as Mark poorly tried to show indifference. "I said, quiet!"

The Doctor obeyed, but he could see he had the victim unnerved; he gazed fondly at the darting eyes, the hint of sweat on the brow, the hands that were clenched to keep from shaking. The symptoms that led to madness.

"Just wait," Scarecrow taunted as he was hauled to his feet a few minutes later, and marched off after the procession that surrounded Dr. Coombs. "I'll be there when you don't want me to, and when the fear comes, you will not be able to hide from me..."

And when he was back in his cell, he was still smiling, a haunting tune from a little song that he had heard one time coming to mind, a fragment of lyric on his lips as he stared into space.

"Come little children,

I'll take thee away

Into a land of enchantment..."

**AN: I do not own Batman nor anything Batman-related, as it is the property of DC Comics and whatever else. I also do not own Come Little Children invented by Hocus Pocus.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Therapy**

Jonathan woke one night to the sound of his cell door opening. A different guard with a heavy build stood at the entrance. "Get up, Crane. Therapy session."

As he was escorted down the hall – after being thoroughly and none too gently searched for fear toxin – he pondered the different ways to act in a session, the methods of twisting the psychiatrist's words around so as to give him a hint of their fears. The three weeks of isolation behind bars had not been a punishment in his view. It had given him plenty of time to dream, to plan, to mentally lie out the improved type of toxin he would create.

Dr. Kellerman, as he had suspected, was his new therapist. He knew Kellerman from previous years – never a man to take bribes, unfortunately, but he was still a fool. Kellerman was stubborn, and, Crane had to admit, a little boring. But he would do.

He sat in a chair, still handcuffed, waiting for the dark-skinned therapist to finish his introduction and studying him all the while. _He hides his discomfort well. But soon it'll be otherwise._

"Good evening, Stephen. How are you tonight?" he asked, his voice casual, even friendly.

"_I'm_ conducting the session, Jonathan," Kellerman replied sternly.

"Of course," Crane said, making a mental note, smiling disarmingly. "If that helps you cope, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Let's talk about the events from three weeks ago. What did you think you'd achieve? Dr. Murphy is still in therapy."

"I wanted to understand him – his personal demons, his fears. It's all quite fascinating, really."

Stephen's eyes narrowed in confusion. "But you are – were – a respected doctor, a brilliant mind. Now just another patient in Arkham."

Crane rolled his eyes. He hated it when people started on this subject. "Can I have a drink? A strong one? This kind of conversation bores me."

"I'm afraid not." Instantly Kellerman cursed under his breath as a new light came into Scarecrow's face. The villain leaned forward, an inquiring, eager note in his voice.

"Interesting choice of words, Doctor. Tell me, what are you afraid of?"

Kellerman turned the tape off, but didn't call the guards, instead looking back at Scarecrow and wondering how to answer. He would not be like the others who would run away whenever a crazy tricked them into saying something foolish. He hesitated, pondering for a moment, before replying:

"Well, what anyone would fear, I guess. But we're not here to talk about me; we're here to talk about you."

Scarecrow shook his head almost pityingly, his voice taking on a darker tone. "Don't be foolish, Stephen. We all have our own personal dreams, nightmares...fears. _I_ want to know about _you_."

Kellerman was doing his best to appear indifferent, but in vain. Scarecrow's eyes cut into him, searching, he couldn't look away. Was Scarecrow reading his mind? Was he under the influence of his gas?

"Tell me, do you love her?"

He started. "What?"

"I can see by the ring on your finger that you are married. Do you love her? Oh, what am I talking about – of course you do! Why else would you have the ring? You married her because you knew it would be best for your future, yes? You enjoy being with her, right?"

"Crane–"

"Now tell me, _Doctor_...How does it feel making a lifelong commitment to something you never wanted to do? You spend day after day in your hopeless life trying to change us. But you don't. You can't. How does it feel, Stephen, to know that the one thing you want to prove yourself with, you know you aren't good enough for? You'll spend day after day hoping your questions will make a difference. But we both know that won't happen, don't we?"

He stared, dumbstruck at Scarecrow's accuracy, silently wishing that he would stop, unmoving under the intense gaze. The villain sat back, his eyes never leaving Kellerman's.

"You have no doubt read my file."

A slow nod followed.

"You never answered my question, Doctor. What are you afraid of? The dark, spiders, drowning, or dying alone...? Confused, sir? You should be. Don't bother trying to figure me out. The more you do so, the more I will turn your words on you and discover more. And you really don't want me to get inside your head, do you?"

There was a pause, and Scarecrow finally looked away for a moment, allowing Kellerman to give a sigh of relief. It was cut off as he heard another question.

"Oh, you look so tired, Stephen." Scarecrow was gone, and again the polite, inviting voice of Crane came from Jonathan's mouth. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I'm here to help _you_, Jonathan." The reply was said with an effort. "Guards!"

Crane smiled coldly as he was forced to his feet, looking over his shoulder to have the last word. "You really should trust me, Stephen. I'm a doctor as well, remember."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Reason**

Dr. Kellerman had never felt so threatened in his life. The questions of Scarecrow, his piercing gaze, had left little courage in the man. But over the night, a plan had come to him. A plan that would find out the _why_ behind what Crane did. Calm at last, he closed his eyes.

* * *

The attitude was a cool one as the two sat in their chairs the next morning. Each now knew more about the other, and each was determined to succeed.

"What is it about fear that drives your obsession?" Kellerman asked, trying to act normal after the last session's events.

Crane's voice again took on that matter-of-fact tone, placing his hands on the table as he explained. "Fear drives everything, Stephen. Everything. Your life is governed by fear. Every decision you make is a product of that fear."

Kellerman shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous." _You won't–_

"You married your wife – Margaret, is it? – because you were scared of dying alone."

Stephen turned in shock, his stomach clenching, when he heard his lover's name, and once again he met the cold, calculating eyes. They did not freeze him this time, they only answered his suspicions. Oddly enough, the eyes seemed to glow. He opened his mouth to speak, but Scarecrow cut him off.

"You have children because you are scared of leaving nothing behind that really matters."

_He's right,_ Stephen admitted to himself, wondering just how readable he was. _He's so very right... _The glow, strange in their slow change in color, intensified as another vulnerability was named.

"You go to the doctors...because you're scared of...dying."

Again he could find no words as he stared disbelievingly into Scarecrow's amused face with eyes that now had no pupils, no irises, not even the whites. They were only bright beams of yellow that glowed out from shadow.

Darkness passed over the slender form, and for a moment, Crane was not there. Only a figure clothed in ragged brown, the fingers of his left hand now fitted with syringes filled with a yellow drug and ending in long, cruel needles. A brown hood covered the head of the Master of Fear, whose face was invisible. Except for the eyes – the gaze that sought, pierced and found his thoughts. They did not shine with the fullness of their intensity, but they still weakened Stephen, flooding his soul with the light of nightmares. They challenged, dared and cowed the man. They held him in place as ghosts swirled about in the gloom, whispering, moaning, pleading and rebuking, naming his fears and doubts one by one.

For that moment, Dr. Kellerman saw the mask of Scarecrow.

The voices came more quickly, building in volume and accusations until it was too much, and Stephen knew he was going to die, but not without a final protest.

"STOP!"

Suddenly the shadows cleared, the ghosts vanished, and the light faded. The vision of Scarecrow was gone. Stephen saw only Dr. Jonathan Crane sitting before him, as normal as ever. Except for the bloodthirsty glint in his brown eyes.

A pause followed before Crane, smiling unnervingly, asked in a knowing voice, "Do I need to go on?"

Kellerman took a deep breath, taking one final glance about to assure that all was safe once more. "N-no. I think that will be all for today. Guards!"

* * *

The knowing smile still lingered as Scarecrow sat in his cell, adding the final touches to his new edition of fear gas, murmuring the second half of the song he had come to enjoy.

"Come, little children,

The time's come to play

Here in my garden of shadows..."

It had been too easy to slip some powder into the coffee mug on his way out of the session room, so enjoyable to think of the nightmares Stephen was experiencing. He only wished he could see the torture himself.

"STOP!"

The anguished scream sounded clearly through the Asylum. That fool hadn't even known what real problems were, what fear really was...until now. Crane smiled as he put the toxin in a safe place for the night, envisioning the glorious breakout he would make the next day.

He had let that hopeless therapist smell a few flowers from his garden. But soon he would get the whole bouquet.

The guards shuddered at the soft laughter that drifted from behind them, praying for the next shift to come and relieve them from this fear of the unknown.


	4. Chapter 4

**Triumph**

Dr. Kellerman never forgot his nightmare that made him still sweat every time he remembered it. He was immensely grateful for the few weeks that passed in between the sessions. He was still uneasy, recalling how all the other therapists had reported an eager glint in the villain's eyes that never seemed to leave. Kellerman had a feeling that Crane was waiting...waiting for him.

_No, not Crane_, he reminded himself with a shudder. _He'll never be Jonathan Crane, ever again_. He had seen the mask. He knew that the once brilliant mind was gone forever. There was no saving this patient, insane or no. Scarecrow had been right. Scarecrow was impossible to figure out; the master of deception was now a villain that ranked equal to Joker in Stephen's book.

A sound behind him made him turn, but he saw nothing. Fearing the worst, he braced himself. "Who's there?"

"Hello, Dr. Kellerman."

He sighed with relief. "Oh, Batman. It's you."

"We need to talk," came the deep voice from the shadows. "I have important information about your patient."

* * *

Stephen noted instantly the next session that Scarecrow was now wearing his mask, and shivered, massaging his aching head. He skipped the formalities of an interview and got right to the point.

"Today I have another interview with...with Crane. I cannot say I'm looking forward to it. In fact, I think he's getting to me."

Scarecrow looked wickedly happy with a smile that made Stephen's heart pound, but at the same time, he was not afraid.

"How are you today?" the patient inquired, barely able to conceal the excitement in his voice.

Kellerman rubbed his forehead furiously, glaring. "I keep telling you, this is _my_ session!"

A hungry glint was in the villain's eyes. "It _was_ your session, doctor...but not anymore."

Kellerman's eyes widened in realization and horror.

"Are you okay, Doc?" asked the security guard who had come along, and whose face had also taken on a pale shade.

The green gas was visible now with a sickly sweet scent that was impossible to miss. Stephen gripped the chair-arms tightly, fighting with what little strength he had left. "I think...yes...I..."

Scarecrow grinned at the now shaking guard and Kellerman's panting. "Oh, he's fine! Just questioning his grip on reality. You should be doing the same any second...Mark."

Mark made no sign of having heard Scarecrow, only staring at the wall in surprise as the gas hung like a fog. "Mom?" he asked uncertainly. "Is that you?"

Scarecrow smiled as the guard backed away, fear in his eyes as he cried out in pain and tried to shield himself, pleading like a little boy. "What are you doing? Stop! Please don't hurt me! _Please_!"

Stephen was on the ground, gasping and trying to push away something that was on his chest. "Get off of me..." he begged. "Help! I need help here! I can't...breathe..."

Scarecrow laughed as he gazed down at them, savoring the symphony of screams as he freed himself from the handcuffs. He stood proudly surveying his triumph, and laughed a spine-chilling laugh of glee, leaning down so he could stare into Mark's white face, who screamed again as he recoiled from the dark figure.

"Like I said..." he began, capping his cologne bottle. With a few swift movements, he knocked both men out with a different drug injected into their necks, then stuffed them into sacks. No one would catch him this late at night. Batman had not been contacted. The plan was a success.

"You're both part of my experiment now!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Dark Victor**

The Medical Chamber of Arkham Asylum was full of green fumes that shifted and swirled before the eyes of Mark and Stephen. The only door was securely locked, trapping them inside with the overjoyed Master of Fear. He was again recording, only now this session was different.

"Asylum Interview Number One," he began, eager as a child before Christmas Day. "My experiment is underway! Working alone, I have created my ultimate fear gas, its potency a revelation."

Stephen, his eyes wide, scrabbled against the ground, trying to retreat from his personal fear. "Th-they're all over me!" he exclaimed, swiping and scratching at his body until Scarecrow spotted blood. "Keep away! Keep away! Keep away!"

Mark howled in anguish as he cowered on the ground, tears covering his face. "Please, Daddy, don't do it!" he begged through sobs of pain, shuddering violently and screaming anew every five minutes, his fingernails digging into the concrete.

Scarecrow laughed, as he often had these past two days while prepping these two subjects for this crowning experiment. No one had found him, and anyone who had had quickly received a lethal dose of toxin. His confidence was never stronger.

"I have pumped enough gas into the Medical Chamber to break 100 minds. It should only be a matter of time until–" The unmistakable sound of shattering glass interrupted the villain and made him whirl round in surprise. "What?"

Batman leaped down from the platform that he had landed on after smashing his way through the high window. "Give it up, Crane! Now!"

Scarecrow was confused at the lack of a gas mask on his enemy's face, wondering at the lack of forethought. "H-how come you're still standing? How come it's not affecting you?"

"Who says it's not?"

Scarecrow's eyes lit up as the attitude of a therapist combined with mad scientist came back to him. "I knew it! What was it like? What have you seen?"

The Caped Crusader ignored him, looking back over his shoulder to call out to someone Scarecrow couldn't see. "Officer Cash, get this formula to the air conditioning system, now!" Turning back, he advanced on the former therapist. Scarecrow instinctively backed away, unnerved for the first time. "You've failed, Crane. Again. I've been working with Dr. Kellerman, creating an antidote to the toxins in your cologne, and in this gas."

Glancing at Stephen and Mark, Scarecrow was shocked to see them standing, breathing hard from their acts and hurting from self-inflicted wounds, but very much alive. He averted his eyes from their angry glares. He looked back at Batman and saw the same. There was no spark in those hard eyes and voice.

"They fooled you, Crane."

"No..."

Scarecrow was almost stumbling now as he increased his backpedaling speed. All too soon, he found a cold wall at his back. There was nowhere to run. His skin was clammy under his costume as Batman kept coming, taking one step with each word.

"How does that make you feel?" Step. "Threatened?" Step. "Humiliated?" Step.

In one swift movement, the villain was lifted off the ground by his collar. Batman roughly took off his mask, staring with a steely gaze into Jonathan Crane's damp terrified face as he dangled helplessly in an iron grip. The Dark Knight hissed one soft word that made the Master of Fear wince.

"Scared?"

The fist moved too swiftly to be avoided, and Dr. Crane fell into blackness as his failure was finally completed.

* * *

No. It was not a failure. It was a victory.

The gas, now made so as to be unseen to the human eye, made its way into the elevator a month later. He was proud of this new version. It had worked its way through the anatomy of his victims quite quickly. It brought fear to life in a way he never expected. And it worked beautifully with the orderlies.

The mask was no longer a secret. It would be the symbol of fear for centuries – no, for eternity. And soon all would bow to the supreme power of the Master of Fear. They would fear, and yet they would obey.

This promise of power he saw in a flash as the gas slowly started its work upon the Caped Crusader. Ever so quietly, like a phantom, the villain followed him. He sang the tune quietly, weaving a spell of submission and death.

"Come, little child,

I'll take thee away

Into a land of enchantment.

Come, little child,

The time's come to play

Here in my garden of shadows."

No, he was not scared anymore. He knew it to be true. Scarecrow smiled.

"It's not over yet, little bat," he whispered. "It's only just begun."

And for a moment outside of the dream soon to come, his eyes glowed.


End file.
